Death Eater Therapy
by Bellatrix567
Summary: A series of shorts in which each of the Death Eaters go to therapy, and goodness knows they need it. Voldemort has deep superiority issues, Bellatrix feels lost and alone and Severus only wants to fit in . . . or so says Bob Eggleton.
1. Superiority

**This is a series of shorts that I've been intending to do for a while, so here goes! There will be one for each Death Eater, and maybe one for the therapist at the end. ****The verdicts in the summary were created before I actually wrote Severus or Bellatrix' sessions, so they're not exactly consistent.**

**Enjoy!**

Bob Eggleton had been having a perfectly normal day. He listened to three hysterical clients in the morning. He listened to Pandora for an hour while pretending to have another session. He ate twelve donuts for lunch and yelled at his secretary when she suggested he go on a diet. He listened to one heartbroken man in the afternoon. Now he was waiting for his final appointment of the day - a new customer. Said new customer knocked on the door.

A tall, pale, bald man entered, led by his rather hassled-looking secretary. Valerie shot him a warning look behind the man's back before leaving, closing the door with a snap.

"You're the therapist?" the man said brusquely.

"That I am. Would you care to sit down?" Bob asked, gesturing to the sofa opposite him.

"I will not be told what to do."

_Oh, so you're one of _those _ones_ . . . "Of course, you may do whatever you like," Bob said, suppressing a sigh. Only forty-five minutes . . . forty-five minutes, and he could go home and watch Netflix for the rest of the afternoon . . . "But will you at least tell me your name?"

"You don't know me?" the man asked. After a moment's hesitation, he sat, perched on the edge of the sofa, shoulders hunched and hands clasped. He wore a strange sort of black robe.

"No," Bob said, then after a moment added "And I'm not sure why I should. Who are you?"

"I'm Voldemort, Muggle," the man - Voldemort - spat. "But you shall call me the Dark Lord, my Lord, or Master."

"Do you use these titles as a method of feeling superior to others?"

"I use _these titles_ because I am the Dark Lord, and I _am_ superior to others, especially Muggles like yourself."

"Alright." Bob jotted down a few notes, making sure he wasn't murmuring anything aloud. No need to repeat _that_ mess. "What is a Muggle? Do you use this private insult to again make yourself feel superior, or do you merely like to feel superiority because you do not swear as most men do?"

"Muggle is not a private insult, idiot. A Muggle is . . . a filthy Muggle, that's what a Muggle is." The man had red eyes, no nose and no lips. Noting this, Bob switched topics.

"Tell me, Voldemort, when did you get plastic surgery?"

Voldemort's lip curled in a snarl. "I never got plastic surgery."

"Do you tell yourself this so as to feel superior to others who did get plastic surgery? Do you connect individuality with superiority?"

"My face is as it is because I have created Horcruxes, Muggle, not that you know what they are. I have done as no other wizard ever has before, done what no other wizard has power enough ever to do again . . ."

"So you do," Bob muttered. "Do you use anorexia to feel superior to others in your eating habits?"

"I do not need to _feel_ superior to others," Voldemort snarled, finally catching on, "Because I _am _superior. I am the Dark Lord; I have created seven Horcruxes; I have thousands of followers . . ."

"Why do you feel the need to feel superior?" Bob interrupted. He scratched his beard with the tip of his pen, smearing ink down his chin, whilst glancing at the clock. Twenty minutes left. Twenty minutes - he could finally finish watching Breaking Bad . . .

"The feeling of superiority comes with superiority itself."

"Why do you feel you have superiority in the first place, then?"

"Because I do."

"Listen to me, Voldemort," Bob said, leaning forward. "_You are lying to yourself about the world._ Deep down, you want to be superior, to be recognized as something great. But you are not. You are just another man, with another job and another ordinary life. Or you might be unemployed. You haven't really told me about yourself. _Stop lying to yourself, Voldemort. It will only bring sorrow."_

A tear trickled down Voldemort's pale cheek. "I . . . see, sir," he said. "Psych! You - I will kill and torture you for your disrespect to the Dark Lord!" So saying, he plunged his right hand into the pocket of his robes. And swore. "Damnit Nagini!"

Bob was puzzled. Weapons weren't allowed. "Who's Nagini?" It was the easiest question to answer.

"My snake - but she's human right now - doesn't matter - I will set Bellatrix on you! And Fenrir! I'll give them a crochet hook and yarn and tell them to get creative, we'll see how you feel about my superiority then!"

"Thank you, Voldemort. I believe the session is over," Bob said, not wanting this to get any more out of hand than it already was. "That will be five hundred dollars."

Voldemort dug in his pockets again, threw a handful of gold coins on the table and stormed out, muttering about how he would have to use the Knight Bus.

**Liked? Hated? Loved? Review! Tell me who should go next as well. **


	2. Opening Up

**Sorry for the hiatus! School happened, and I've also begun rewriting my novelly thingy (it was 220 pages when I stopped). This one's Lucius. Hope you enjoy!**

Bob Eggleton was not having a very good day. His last client had extremely violent tendencies and had had to be restrained by security, and the one before that was angry enough to take out her fury on anything to hand - including the furniture. It took half of the donuts in Bob's lunch to calm her down. Then his secretary, Valerie, told him that Voldemort had dropped off a paper about some of his "fantasies" and that Bob was inclined to read it, as Voldemort had scheduled another appointment the following week. This wouldn't have been a problem if the paper was not one hundred twenty-nine pages long.

Bob glanced up as someone rapped sharply on the door. He hastily laid aside Voldemort's papers (on page five now), stashed his half-eaten donut behind his back, grabbed his notepad and called "Come in."

A blonde man dressed in long robes and furs strode into the room, an odd-looking cane in his hand. His hair was as long as any woman's and exceptionally shiny (Bob made a mental note to ask this man which conditioner he used - his wife was searching for something better), his eyes were icy gray and his face wore a look of purest disdain. Bob ignored it.

"Hello there," he said, hooking a smile onto his face. He consulted his notes. "Ah yes, you must be Lucius Malfoy."

"That I am." Lucius looked down at the sofa, his lip curling, then pulled a length of heavily embroidered fabric from the inside of his coat. He laid this down on the sofa, careful not to touch the actual cushions, before sitting down. Bob made a note.

"So, Lucius," Bob said, "What would you like to discuss with me?"

"What gives you the idea I would want a Muggle to talk to me, let alone talk back to it?" He said it almost lazily - at least this man didn't lack confidence. But he used that word again, and even more viciously than Voldemort had. What did it mean?

Bob decided to ignore the insult. "Tell me about yourself, Lucius."

Lucius rolled his eyes in a way that said too clearly, _I should have expected this._ "I work at the Ministry of Magic," he said eventually. "I take it you haven't the slightest clue what that is?"

"Would you care to tell me about it, then?" Bob tried to take the sarcasm out of his voice, he really did, but he was only partly successful.

"No."

Bob sighed. "Why so hostile, Lucius?"

"I am not hostile, only superior. You are a Muggle. You are inferior. You should be grovelling at my feet right now, not prying into my life."

"So I am a Muggle. Why does that make me less than you?" _And what _is _a Muggle?_

Lucius considered this for a split second. Only a split second, however. "I am a wizard. I have magic; you do not. Therefore, you are less than me."

"But one is born with magic, are they not?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"Well, what if I were born with magic, and you were not?" Lucius looked puzzled. Bob pressed on, "Would I be the superior, then? Would you be the one to grovel at my feet?"

"Of course not!" Lucius snarled. Clearly, this touched a nerve. "No Squib would grovel at the foot of Mudblood! And I am a Malfoy! No Malfoys are born Squibs!"

"And what is a Mudblood?"

"A Muggle born with wizarding powers, of course," Lucius sniffed. Bob's ignorance seemed to only further increase his feeling of superiority. "But Muggle and Mudblood and Squib, there is no difference."

"Then what are you?" Bob asked patiently. _Or is Malfoy a different race altogether?_

"I am a Pureblood," Lucius said, miffed. "If this is all, Muggle . . ."

"No, this is certainly not all," Bob said. "You came to therapy for a reason, am I right? What do you feel you need to discuss with me, Lucius?"

"I came to _therapy_ -" Lucius cut himself off abruptly. He sat silent for a moment or two, considering his next move, before saying, "I managed all my affairs between now and when I scheduled this appointment. Thank you, but -"

"You scheduled this appointment half an hour ago," Bob interrupted. "And that extra ten minutes accounts for driving time."

"I . . . did?" Lucius looked puzzled. "Of course I did. But I sorted everything out . . . mentally." His disdainful smile was far too mechanic. Bob sighed again.

"You don't have to be afraid to open up, Lucius," he said gently.

"I am not _afraid_," Lucius snarled, hostile once more. The poor man must be so insecure.

"Oh yes, you are." Bob mentally cursed himself; attacking his patients rarely helped them to open up.

"No I'm not!" Lucius shouted.

"You are."

"Am not!" Then Lucius did something very startling: he dramatically threw his head into his hands. Okay, that wasn't the startling part. The startling part was that he was crying, his entire body shaking with sobs. "Everyone calls me a coward," he screeched, the words barely distinguishable between sobs. "And my wife makes fun of my Barbies . . . and Bellatrix stabbed me . . . and the Dark Lord took my best dress robes and spilled ketchup on them . . . and the werewolf licked my hair . . ."

"I see," Bob tried to say, but Lucius didn't stop. Evidently no one listened to the man; his sob stories went on.

" . . . and she put blood in my smoothie . . . and Draco used all my hair gel . . . and the Dark Lord stole my bunny slippers . . . and Bellatrix took my new sparkly knife and got blood all over it . . ."

And on.

". . . and Nagini touched my sofa, I had to get a new one . . .and Wormtail ate all my sugar cookies . . ."

And on.

". . . and Severus told Nagini who told everyone that he makes me weightloss potions . . ."

Bob's head lolled forward; he had fallen asleep.

". . . and Narcissa messed up my French braid that took hours to make . . . and my makeup . . ."

Bob snored.

" . . . and sometimes I just take a box of brownies and watch Barbie and forget about my life!" Lucius finished, his voice jumping two or three octaves on the last note. Bob jumped, blinked, and hid a yawn.

"Ah, yes, you, er . . . I understand your life is very difficult, Lucius," he said.

"At last someone understands!"

"Do you feel better, now that you've let out your emotions?"

But Lucius was no longer listening. Instead, he was examining his reflection in a handheld silver mirror. "I look horrendous!"

"It's what's on the inside that counts," Bob said absentmindedly.

**Based on the reviews, I'm pretty sure Bellatrix is coming next. REVIEWS MAKE ME HAPPY**


	3. Loyalty

**A tremendous thank you to all my reviewers! You guys are awesome!**

**So here's Bellatrix. Hope you enjoy :)**

"Mrs. Lestrange to see you, Mr. Eggleton," Valerie called.

Bob jumped and quickly hid his Dunkin' Donuts bag behind his back. "But . . . lunch break's not over for another ten minutes!"

Valerie mouthed 'She's right here,' shot Bob a warning look and a winning smile in such quick succession that Bob hadn't realized he should be frightened until the client had already stepped into the room.

Well, at least this one was attractive, Bob thought. In a terrifying, dangerous, sadistic sort of way. He was trying very, very hard to look on the bright side of things. Dressed in leather and high boots, however, and with hair that looked as if it had not seen a comb in over a decade, she wasn't exactly his type.

Before Bob could make any introductions (or admit that he didn't have his paperwork to hand and therefore didn't know her first name), however, the woman snarled:

"Look, Muggle, you'd better say I'm alright, because I'm not allowed to kill Snape and the Dark Lord took away the knives that scar." With that, she moved to sit on the sofa opposite him and raised her eyebrows in question. "Well?"

"I . . . er . . . are you allowed to kill others, then?" Bob asked. It came out far too conversational; the woman's face brightened.

"Why yes, of course," she said enigmatically. "Well, technically I'm only supposed to torture fellow Death Eaters, but there're plenty of Muggles and Mudbloods and all _sorts_ of animals . . ."

Bob cut her off. "You enjoy violence, then, er . . .?"

"Bellatrix. And yes I do, very much. Have I told you about that one, Scabior I think he was? He _leered_ at me, and - okay, well honestly I was just looking for an excuse, but anyway, Fenrir gave me a wooden skewer and pliers and a fish hook, and . . ."

Bob decided then that it would much benefit his sanity, sleep and innocence if he tuned out Bellatrix' very detailed idea of 'fun.' Perhaps she was better than Lucius - she certainly was less delicate - but really, this sort of sadism was quite unhealthy. Maybe it was built up to mask inner tragedy . . . or romance . . .

"Tell me more about Fenrir," Bob said, cutting across her once again.

"Don't you look at me that way!" Bellatrix snapped, catching his suggestive expression. "Don't you even . . ."

"No need to get so defensive, Bellatrix," Bob said. "There's no need to cover up your feelings. I'm sure he . . ." He found himself unable to continue, as Bellatrix had kicked him in the crotch. And those heels _hurt._

"He's a werewolf, you filthy Muggle," she snarled. "Not that he would be very interesting if he weren't. I am the Dark Lord's."

"Owww . . ." Somewhere, in the back of Bob's mind, he registered the title, and the reverence in Bellatrix' voice when she used it. While she evidently quelled her anger (apart from ripping out the hairs on the back of his neck), Bob made his slow return to functionality. Her expression was a mixture of boredom and amusement.

"You Muggles take much longer to recover than the Inner Circle," she said in an offhand way. "Even Lucius and Wormtail are better than _that._"

Bob only sniffed at that; he thought his pain tolerance was rather good. And it wasn't as if _she _could understand what it was like to be kicked in the crotch.

"Are you always so prone to violence?" he managed.

Bellatrix scoffed. "How does one so abysmal at understanding basic human nature become a therapist?"

"Do you use violence as a method of asserting your dominance over others?" Bob persisted.

"I am a Black. I am _always_ dominant over others," she said. "Except of course the Dark Lord."

_One of those again. Great._ "You, er, you like the Dark Lord much?" _Please don't kick me again._

But this time, Bellatrix looked delighted at the question. "I am his most loyal, most capable . . . the best Death Eater he will ever have. Don't listen to what the rest will tell you; the Dark Lord needs me, as I need him."

"You are loyal . . . so you follow all of the Dark Lord's ideals?"

"Naturally; all Muggle filth is best done away with."

"Do you agree with them on principal, or do you agree because the Dark Lord said so?"

"Speak sense, Muggle," Bellatrix snapped. A cockier version of _I don't understand._

"For instance," Bob said, "say the Dark Lord wanted everyone to eat nothing but -"

"Human meat," Bellatrix supplied eagerly. "He did, once. It was a dare. It went all week, and I was the only human to succeed." Bob noted how she used the word human - were there perhaps others who were not considered human? But it was a subject for later.

"You became a cannibal, then," Bob said.

"A small sacrifice."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Why did you eat human meat? Did you do it because you wanted to, or because the Dark Lord told you to?"

"I wanted to," Bellatrix said slowly, thinking. The Dark Lord had likely told her to go along with this, Bob reflected. "I wanted to . . . because the Dark Lord said to."

"Ah . . ."

"_And_ because I had more guts than Snape or Lucius."

"Your loyalty is impressive, Bellatrix," Bob said. She glowed. "Now tell me, what is the most repulsive thing you can think of?"

"Sex with Wormtail," she said instantly, "Closely followed by sex with Snape or Rodolphus. Or Rabastan. Or Lucius. Or . . ."

Bob cut her off before she could list all the undesirable males in her life. "If the Dark Lord commanded you to have sex with Wormtail," he asked, "Would you do so willingly?"

Bellatrix exploded. Her hand went to her pocket, and she swore violently - evidently she was missing something. She resorted instead to punching Bob in the face, and she wore a sharp ring that left an open cut down his cheek. "Don't . . ." she hissed.

"You are defensive because you are unsure," Bob said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. "Now calm down. Think."

"I will _not_," she snarled. "I am not your dog."

"You are not my dog," Bob agreed. "You are my patient. I am here to help."

"I don't need help!" Suddenly she smiled; it was even scarier than before. "But you will, soon."

"Do you always react this way when people try to help?" No wonder she was so messed up.

"The ones who scamper away are not worth my time anyway."

"Why don't you answer the question?"

She responded by raking her nails across his face and simultaneously spitting in his eye, but she stopped suddenly and barked "If a green-skinned woman asks if I gave you that, tell her it was Sn - Severus. Do so or you'll see much worse."

Bob only nodded, then backtracked. "You have my word on it," he said, "If you conclude the rest of this therapy session in peace." Thank Netflix there were only ten minutes left.

Bellatrix considered, then said harshly "Alright." She reseated herself on the sofa, looking impatient.

"Before we get back to what we were talking about," Bob asked, "may I ask why?"

Bellatrix considered, but judged the information not to be too crucial. "Nagini started a betting pool over who would be the first to strike the therapist, and the first to draw blood. All the money is on me, but to even things out, someone bullied Wormtail into betting a hundred Galleons on Snape."

"Fair enough." _Even if I don't understand half of what you're talking about. _"Now back to the question - and remember our deal. This is all confidential; no one has to know. So: if the Dark Lord commanded you to have sex with Wormtail, would you?"

Bellatrix considered this time - actually considered. Bob was astounded. Eventually she said, "No. I would torture Wormtail to death and inform the Dark Lord that he was dead and his body too mutilated for necrophilia. I could blame it on Snape so he gets punished, even though the Dark Lord would know it was me. He is a jealous man, the Dark Lord; he would never desire for me to be with another. I am his favorite; I am his beloved . . ."

"I am very glad to see you have principals underneath your loyalty," Bob said, interrupting once more. "But would you not consider making these principals clear to the Dark Lord, to tell him no? Surely he would care what you think?"

"But where's the fun in that?" Bellatrix demanded. "And goring Wormtail to death _would _make those 'principals,' as you say, evident." True enough, that.

"Do you have any friends apart from the Dark Lord?" Bob asked, changing topics abruptly. "And what sort of activities do you do which the Dark Lord has not commanded you to?"

"I torture Muggles with Fenrir," Bellatrix said instantly.

"But that is what the Dark Lord wants you to do, is it not?"

"No." She saw where he was going, evidently. "He doesn't care one way or another, or he wouldn't if it weren't me doing so. I torture Muggles for fun." Again with that terrifying grin. It seemed to say that Bob was next on the list.

"Is there anything else?"

"I torture my husband."

Bob hid his astonishment; she was married. And yet, it was all too clear she was in love with the Dark Lord, the same man Bob had counselled three days before. She and her husband needed marriage counseling, he decided.

"I . . . don't believe that is healthy, Bellatrix."

"It's fine, Snape heals him sometimes."

Bob decided to move out of dangerous waters. "I recommend you find a hobby, Bellatrix," he said. "Reading, writing, clothes designing." He had the feeling she would be awful at all three. "And practice this hobby at least once a week. Do it apart from the Dark Lord and his followers - although Fenrir or another friend would be okay. It will help you improve, I promise."

"I'm not friends with werewolves," was all Bellatrix said. Bob sighed.

"I'll see you next week, then."

**Nagini is next, with ink blots and even more randomness than has happened so far. I'm looking forward to both Fenrir and Severus, so tell me which should come next! (and I haven't forgotten Wormtail, don't worry)**

**If I could have one billion dollars or a lot of reviews . . . . okay, I'd take the billion dollars, because then I could buy a computer, but still. Reviews are my bestest friends and the sole reason that this fic is continued. REVIEWS**


	4. Identity

**Two updates in two days! Clap for me, for I am the special.**

**A huge thank-you to my reviewers. You guys are awesome!**

**Now, enjoy . . .**

Voldemort called Bob to schedule this appointment, although it was apparently for a woman called Nagini. All the Dark Lord was willing to say was that she was a snake and she was nuts. Bob thought it would be bad for Voldemort's already unstable security level to ask "Nuts relative to you?," so he only sighed and jotted down the meager information Voldemort supplied.

Now, the first session of the day, Nagini strode into the room. If Bob had found the attire of the last three strange, they paled in comparison to her. Nagini had undergone some terrifying plastic surgery to make her skin tinted with green; she wore a green and yellow pajama shirt speckled with bunnies over what looked like a black lace corset, yoga pants rolled unevenly above the knee, and knee-high socks striped grey and green. Her hair, black and longish, looked like she had just gotten out of bed, and she wore what must be grey-gold-green eye contacts.

"Hey," she said amiably. "I'm Nagini; you're the therapist."

"Bob Eggleton," Bob said, leaning forward to shake her hand. She glanced oddly at the gesture for a moment, cocked her head in confusion, and decided to ignore it. That didn't go with her apparent friendliness, but Bob went on, "Why did you come here, Nagini?"

"Um . . . I think Bellatrix and Severus were jealous that they were the only ones who had to go, even though the rest of us made it out to be top Death Eater privilege, so they convinced Voldemort that the rest of the inner circle had to go, too."

"I see." So she went because of peer pressure, or because someone told her to. Those ones were the worst: Bellatrix and Lucius were proof of that. Bob also noted that she used Voldemort's real name, none of that Dark Lord nonsense. "Do you believe that you need therapy?" he asked.

"Probably," Nagini said, "I mean, everyone does, don't they?" _Everyone you know, maybe_, Bob thought. These Death Eaters seemed to be close with few apart from each other.

"People go to therapy when they feel they need help," Bob explained.

"Well, I've got friends," Nagini said, "They, you know, show me how humans function and all. Quite interesting, humans."

"Please, sit," Bob said, realizing that she had not done so. "And please explain what you mean."

"Er . . . you do know what friends are, right? Or did Fenrir and Bellatrix make that one up, too? Severus told me friends were real things!"

She wasn't making any sense, so Bob decided to change topics. "You know Bellatrix, do you?"

Nagini gave him an odd look. "Who doesn't?"

"Others have mentioned Fenrir and Severus Snape as well. Can you tell me about your relationship with them?"

"Um . . ." Another odd look. "Well, me and Fenrir - Fenrir and I, sorry - are the only two in the inner circle who aren't human, so we get along. And Severus is the only one who understands logic and reason, _and_ he doesn't tell me that the best way to flirt is to sing opera."

Alright, this human thing was getting confusing. Bellatrix had called Fenrir a werewolf, and Lucius mentioned 'that werewolf,' but Bob hadn't really considered that they were serious. Then again, what with _their_ sanity level, they very well could have been.

"Tell me what you mean when you say that you and Fenrir aren't human," Bob said. "Do you feel that you are outcasts, so much that you are not even the same species?"

"We're not outcasts," Nagini said quickly. Then she added, "Okay, we are. Because we're not human. But it's okay; it means you don't have to pretend to like people."

"You continually say that you aren't human. Why? Do you want to feel different, special even, or have others always assumed you were different? Do you think this difference is for the better or worse?"

Again with the funny looks. "We're different . . . 'cause we're not human. And yeah, we both see it as a good thing, he more than me. It's pretty basic, really."

"You truly believe you're not human."

"Yes," she said, brow furrowed. Then something dawned on her. "Oh! Fenrir's a werewolf, and I'm Na - I'm a snake, transfigured to take human form. I'm not a regular person _saying_ I'm not human - I'm a snake."

"You feel you are a snake."

"I _am_ a snake. This . . . this really isn't _that_ hard to comprehend."

"Tell me, Nagini; do you truly believe that you are a snake, or are you enforcing and reinforcing the lie upon yourself?"

"It's not . . ." Nagini shook her head. "I give up. Can we move on?"

"No, this is a major part of your identity."

"If you told Fenrir that, he would accuse you of being racist against werewolves. And then he would agree."

Bob sighed. Although Fenrir appeared to be a good influence on Bellatrix, he certainly wasn't the same on Nagini. "This isn't about Fenrir, Nagini. This is about you." Had he been the one to convince her that it was cooler to be a snake?

"No, this is about you and your small-mindedness and how you are unable to accept that others may be different from you."

Bob sighed again; she was impossible. "Alright, Nagini. Have it your way. We can discuss your identity crises further at a later date."

"Yeah, good luck with that," she said with a winning grin. Then, muttering to herself, "Wonder how much money I can get on Fenrir to break the first bones . . ." Bob decided to ignore that; he was having enough trouble sleeping at night as it was, although that mostly had to do with Netflix.

"I noticed you call Voldemort Voldemort, not the Dark Lord," Bob said, casting about for a change of topics. "I am neither praising nor criticizing, but could you tell me why?"

"Well, it's kinda hard to respect a man quite that much after you've watched Wormtail change his diapers for a year," Nagini said. "It didn't seem so weird in snake form, but now that I'm human . . . yuck. Wormtail still seems able to grovel, though."

Again with the snake thing. "Who's Wormtail? Did he choose the nickname for himself, or was it assigned to him?"

"I have no idea. But he's part of the inner circle, so he'll be here sometime next week. Maybe you should ask him," Nagini said. "We're not really close; I think the friendliest thing I ever said to him was that I would eat Fenrir first because wolves taste better than rats."

Did everything she said have to come back, one way or another, to the snake thing? Maybe it would be best to pick this up next week.

"Are you very close with Voldemort?" Bob asked.

"Oh, yeah, us two go way back. Two years now, in fact. We can talk about anything: nose treatments, hairstyles, secret crushes . . ." Something told Bob that she wasn't being entirely serious, but he couldn't say what.

"Well, Nagini, until we meet again," Bob said. "I encourage you to spend more time with Severus and Voldemort, and possibly less with Fenrir." It was ironic, truly, that he had just given Bellatrix the opposite advice. "Discuss his ideas with some of your other friends before going along with him."

"No worries," Nagini said, "I've learned that lesson well enough." Bob raised his eyebrows in question. "Fenrir told me you were only allowed to wear high heels to Death Eater meetings," she said, as if that explained everything.

Bob sighed in relief the moment she was gone. He still had to face one more of those weirdos in the afternoon . . .

**Alright, I hope this one was as good as Bellatrix'. Tell me in the reviews who's going next (Severus, Fenrir and Wormtail still need sessions) - inkblots are in store!**


	5. Inkblots

**Sorry for the long hiatus! Don't worry, this story is not yet dead. This chapter just seemed to end in the middle, but Severus needed more time than that, so I forced it to go on. It's probably not as good as the others, but whatever.**

**A huge thank-you to all my reviewers!**

Looking at the dark, brooding man perched on the sofa before him, Bob thought he hadn't much hope. Severus Snape had every air of not wanting to be here, and that little half-smile he wore, while not as disturbing as Bellatrix', said he had every intention to act even worse than she.

Bob attempted to ignore it all. "Tell me why you have come to therapy, Severus," he said, trying to force his face into a friendly smile. He was only half successful.

"Bellatrix wanted me to," Severus replied. "The _Dark Lord_ wanted me to, and he had me tortured for three hours when I refused." Now he really smiled, cold and humorless. "But then, I suppose daily torture does call for therapy."

"You are a . . . Death Eater as well, are you?" The term was odd - did they believe they ate death, as well? Bob was smart enough not to ask.

"Obviously."

"Are you as . . . _loyal_ . . . as some?" Confidentiality prevented Bob from mentioning Bellatrix by name, but as Severus already knew her, he most certainly knew what the therapist meant.

"Would I serve the Dark Lord if I weren't loyal?" Severus shot back, sarcastic and yet slightly cautious. "But I am not so obsessed as Bellatrix, no. I did not spend fourteen years in Azkaban god-worshipping our master." _That would explain a lot, _Bob thought. He would have to bring up Azkaban, whatever that was, with Bellatrix during her next session.

Severus wasn't very forthcoming with words, but there were other ways to see into a man's thoughts. "I want you to try something with me, Severus," Bob said lightly. Severus' only response was a look that said _no_ only too plainly_._ Bob ignored it.

Bob took out a card with an inkblot imprinted on it. "Tell me what you see."

"I see ink," Severus said flatly. His face betrayed nothing.

"Alright . . . try to think a little harder. Be creative. Now, what do you see?" Bob said, holding up a second card.

"Ink."

"Let's dig deeper. Can you think of an image the ink resembles?"

"No; it's an inkblot."

"Yes, I _know_ that. But look, this little piece sticks out - what does that look like?"

"Ink."

"Something _apart_ from ink would be nice."

"I'm not doing this to please you."

"Yeah, I can tell," Bob muttered. "Alright, try again. How about this?"

"Colored ink."

Bob groaned. "I've been told that this one looks like a frog. I've also been told it looks like a bat, or two people talking. Which do you see?"

"I see ink."

Bob grabbed his phone and typed the words 'bloody knife' into Google Images. Holding up what in his mind was a particularly disturbing image, he asked, "Now what do you see?"

Severus' face didn't twitch. "A phone."

"And what is on the phone?"

"Your finger."

"On the _screen._"

"A plastic knife splattered with fake blood."

"See? Seeing pictures isn't so hard. Let's go back to the inkblots, shall we?" Severus didn't respond. Bob ignored it. "What do you see?"

"Ink."

_I give up!_ "Fine! I can see you have an aversion to inkblots. Why don't you tell me about yourself."

"What is there to tell?"

"Well, I only know your name," Bob said, trying to be patient. "And that you work for Voldemort. That leaves a lot to expand on."

"You could look at it that way."

"Yes, I know. Can you try to expand?"

"I could." Severus still kept a straight face; Bob groaned. Maybe if presented with a direct question . . . no, the inkblots had disproved that. Still, it was worth a shot.

"You mentioned 'daily torture' earlier," Bob said conversationally. "What did you mean by that?"

"There isn't a second Muggle definition for torture, is there?" Severus said sarcastically.

"No, but the word can be used in a variety of ways. Constant annoyance can be called -"

"I meant the Cruciatus Curse, but dealing with eleven-year-olds every day is its own brand of torture as well."

"You deal with eleven-year-olds? Are you a teacher?" Bob couldn't imagine a worse man for the job.

"I'm the potions professor at Hogwarts."

Ah. Now they were getting somewhere. "Why did you become a teacher, Severus?" Bob asked.

"Dumbledore wanted me close to him during the first war; after the war was over, I needed a job, and who but Dumbledore would hire a half-blood former Death Eater?"

"And who is Dumbledore?" The glare Bob got for that question snarled _why should I waste my time on someone who doesn't know who Dumbledore is?_ or the like. Severus' lips twitched, and he answered, "My employer."

"The headmaster of this . . . Hogwarts, then?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel towards Dumbledore? Is he a good boss?" _What's his first name?_

"He is prejudiced, but not so much as some."

"Prejudiced in what way?" _And if you mention werewolves, I swear I'll . . ._

"He was a Gryffindor, you see," was Severus' response. Bob struggled not to swear in exasperation. He glanced at the clock; there were fifteen minutes left. _Damn._

"What do you do day-to-day, Severus?" Bob asked.

"I teach."

"And?" Bob prompted.

"And grade papers."

"Why don't you lead me through your average day," Bob suggested. Severus raised an eyebrow but obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

"I wake up and make a day's set of healing potions," he began, "if I'm to see the Dark Lord later. If not, I usually just experiment -"

"Do you eat breakfast?" Bob interrupted.

"Do I what?"

"Breakfast," Bob said, resisting the urge to add something sarcastic. "Do you -"

"No."

Bob made a note. "Please continue."

"I teach dunderheaded students most of the day. After that -"

"Do you eat lunch?" Bob interrupted once more.

"No," Severus said sardonically. He most definitely looked amused.

"Why don't you?" _And stop smirking like that!_

"I am often not hungry. And there are people in the Great Hall."

"Do you eat dinner?"

"If I never ate, Mr. Eggleton, I would starve to death," Severus said, "Yes, I eat dinner."

"You seem hesitant to talk about this," Bob said.

"It's not a very interesting subject."

"Do you feel self-conscious about your eating habits?"

"Why would I . . .?"

"Do you feel self-conscious about your physical appearance?" Bob knew that bombarding a patient with questions wasn't always the best way to do things, but they were finally getting somewhere.

"You've decided I'm an anorexic," Severus said flatly.

"I'm merely trying to understand you, Severus," Bob said. He glanced at the man's hair. "How often do you shower?"

"This is getting a bit insulting, don't you think?" Severus said, "My hygiene is as good as yours."

"What do you do in your free time?" Bob asked.

"I brew potions."

"How much time, on average, do you spend talking to people each day?"

Severus gave him a sardonic look. "I'm a professor. I teach six hours a day."

"Voluntarily talk to people, then."

"None. I dislike talking to people," Severus said. "Especially humans."

_Please do not mention werewolves. Or snakes. _Bob glanced once more at the clock. Two minutes. "Do you have any friends, Severus?" He wouldn't have phrased it so bluntly for someone else, but Severus smirked and took it in stride. If the question bothered him at all, he hid it well.

"No."

"Do you want friends?"

"No."

"Have you ever had friends?"

Something flashed across Severus' face, but he quickly hid it away. "Yes."

"Why are you no longer friends with those you knew?" One minute.

"They're dead." Along with the ever-present sarcasm and cold amusement, there was a touch of pain Severus hadn't been able to school from his voice.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Bob said, semi-automatically. Forty-five seconds. "Well, I believe we will have to continue this lovely conversation next session." Forty seconds. "In the meantime, I suggest you go outside and try to socialize a bit more. It will do you good." Severus didn't respond. "Try to make friends." Fifteen seconds.

Severus looked puzzled. "And why would I do that?"

Bob sighed, then did so once again, this time in relief as the second hand hit the twelve.

**Reviews! Just gonna put that out there.**

**Fenrir goes next, then Wormtail so as to finish the main seven, then Rodolphus. After that, I'm planning a play therapy session for the whole group. We'll see how it goes.**


	6. Procrastination

**This was supposed to be up several days ago, but I frankly couldn't think of anything that hadn't been done before . . .**

Bob glanced at the clock, a habit he was growing far too prone to. His client, yet another newcomer, was late. Five minutes late, now, almost six. Bob shuffled his papers impatiently, huffed, and set to seeing how far he could shoot led from his mechanical pencil.

Valerie tapped on the door and turned the knob before Bob could finish saying "come in." He raised his eyebrows in question; she grinned and nodded encouragingly. Not as bad a nutcase as the rest, then.

Valerie slipped away and a man of middling years sauntered in. His clothes, although wrinkled and covered in dark stains, weren't half so eclectic as the rest of the 'wizards.' The man's shoulder-length brown hair was uncombed, and he evidently hadn't shaved for a week. His eyes were alight and glinted almost wolfishly as he cast an appraising look over Bob.

"Fenrir Greyback," the man said, walking over to shake Bob's hand. His fingernails were yellowed and filed to sharp points, but Bob wasn't so rude as to draw back. Immediately, that is. "Most infamous werewolf in all of Britain, pleased to make your acquaintance."

_So you're the one_ . . . "Bob Eggleton," Bob said, forcing a smile. He covertly wiped his hand on his trousers while Fenrir sprawled on the sofa. "So, Fenrir," Bob said, leaning forward. "Why have you come to therapy?"

"If I didn't, someone would have caused a fuss," he replied.

"Any . . . identity issues you would like to discuss with me?"

"No, why - oh, right," Fenrir grinned. He had pointed canines; Bob tried not to recoil. "Nagini told me about you."

"She was supposed to keep her session private," Bob said. "It helps with the healing process."

"The only thing Nagini needs to heal is her burning desire for werewolf flesh, if you ask me," Fenrir said. At least the man didn't lack confidence.

"I'm afraid I can't discuss Nagini's case due to patient confidentiality," Bob said, voice terse. "But perhaps we can discuss you instead."

"Alright. I suppose I should expose some weaknesses, so you can come up with problems for me and help me work through them?" he said it so naturally it took Bob a moment to realize he was being sarcastic.

"That kind of outlook will only hold you back," he said, gentle but reprimanding. "You need to trust me."

"_Riiiiiiiight._ And why would I-"

This was going nowhere. "Tell me about yourself, Fenrir," Bob said. Maybe Fenrir would be better at inkblots than Severus . . .

"Well, I'm a werewolf -"

"Excuse my interruption, but could you expand on that?"

Fenrir gave him a flat-eyed stare. "Maybe if you hadn't interrupted me, I would have already."

"My apologies. Please continue."

"Damn it, you made me lose my thread." Suddenly Fenrir laughed. "This is ridiculous."

"I don't think so. This could be very helpful to-"

"You'll tell everyone else I was civilized, right?"

Bob blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Bellatrix already drew blood first, but Lucius has around three hundred Galleons that you and I wouldn't be able to carry a conversation for more than thirty seconds. I don't like Snape much, but he put all his money on Bellatrix, and I'd love to see Lucius lose to a half-blood."

_Oh. That._ "I don't think this sort of betting on one another's behavior is helpful or supportive," Bob began. "It puts pressure -"

"Actually, if it weren't for the bets, I would probably be eating you alive right now. You're kind of annoying."

He was bluffing, surely. Bob hoped he was. "You use violence to intimidate others, do you?" he asked.

Fenrir shrugged. "I have to; a werewolf who puts his toe over the line can't use a wand. Legally, at least. And - come _on, _hurting people is fun. Especially since werewolf scars can't be cursed off."

"Scars can't be cursed off."

"Muggles." Fenrir smiled indulgently. Bob sniffed; he didn't like being patronized by his patients; it was much better the other way 'round.

"When did you begin to tell yourself that you are a werewolf?" Bob asked. Hopefully Fenrir would be more cooperative than Nagini. Then again, he seemed to be the one who lead her down that path in the first place . . .

"The transformations are a bit hard to ignore," Fenrir said. His smile was very obviously forced, however, and Bob decided to backtrack. Fenrir's desire to see Lucius shamed wouldn't outdistance his taste for violence for too long, and Bob didn't want to push it. Bellatrix had been bad enough.

"What do you like to do?" Bob asked. "Have you any hobbies?"

Again Fenrir shrugged. "Muggle-hunting is pretty fun," he said. "Pureblood-kid hunting is more fun, but I had to stop that after I signed on with V - the Dark Lord unless he told me to."

"You dislike Purebloods?" Or maybe he just disliked kids. Either would be a refreshing change.

"Hate them," Fenrir replied. "Bellatrix is the only one I don't have a strong desire to kill, and that's half because I know she would kill me first. Very slowly."

"You don't like Bellatrix? I was under the impression you two were friends."

"Er . . . she tortures Muggles with me as sort of a last resort, because none of her Death Eater friends get into the gory stuff with her. Or they do, but they get really terrified of her afterwards."

"But what do you feel towards her?"

"She's okay, I guess. She's pretty cool for a human. Most of the time, at least."

"Can you expand on that?"

Fenrir sighed, then grinned again, almost as if he were laughing at himself for going along. "She's temperamental, Bellatrix. Fourteen years with the Dementors kinda messed up her emotions. She will turn on you like _that_, hold you under the Cruciatus for thirty-odd minutes because of a look you might have given her. I can deal with that, but then Nagini got this brilliant idea to make You-Know-Who allow the Death Eaters to form a union, and their first decision was to stop Bellatrix torturing and maiming people left and right. Only, it only applied to other Death Eaters - she wouldn't dare curse You-Know-Who - and I'm not a Death Eater."

Bob ignored the implications Fenrir was shoving down his throat. "You aren't a Death Eater?"

"Hate to break it to you, but werewolves can't join the Pureblood elitist group."

_So that's what the Death Eaters are!_ Bob figured he wouldn't gain any respect by asking, so he had continually put it off. Up until now, all he really knew was that they followed Voldemort, and for god knew what reasons.

"Do you have any friends?" Bob asked. Only after he said it did he realize that Fenrir might take his wording the wrong way.

"Of course I . . . oh," Fenrir said. "Yes, I am the only one in the inner circle who has a life outside of it."

"You sound quite proud of it."

"Do I? I probably shouldn't. To be frank, they aren't much competition."

Bob wondered if he was allowed to gossip about his other clients. Nagini's unique fashion sense, for instance . . . no, better not to risk it.

"How much time left?" Fenrir asked abruptly. "I'm hungry."

Bob checked his watch. "Five minutes."

Fenrir gave his best impression of puppy eyes; it was more terrifying than cute, but perhaps that was the purpose. "Can I go now? I've been really, really cooperative."

Maybe he had, but they had gotten nowhere. Bob didn't even have much tentative advice. Then again, he only had a few episodes left on Breaking Bad, so getting out of office early wasn't something he would complain about.

"Yeah, sure."

"You tell Lucius and the rest exactly what happened, won't you?" Without waiting for a response, Fenrir dashed for the door. Bob hoped some of the strain he had began to show long ago from such utter docileness was feigned.

Then again, if all the Death Eaters were as cooperative as Fenrir, life would be much easier on Bob. Perhaps he should speak to Nagini about upping the stakes on her betting pool . . .

**Not great, but review anyway. Reviews will bring Wormtail's chapter sooner. After Peter and Rodolphus, I'm doing a group therapy - all seven of them discussing one another's issues and opening up to the group. Great fun is in store.**


	7. Betrayal

**Thank you to all my reviewers! You guys are amazing. I may or may not have run around my house/school asking everyone I saw "Guess who got forty reviews?" And everyone just kind of shook their head in shame and walked away as fast as they could.**

**This one's got much more angst, and because of that, less humor. Still, enjoy!**

Bob surveyed the stout, balding man before him. Hunched and trembling slightly, with a pointed nose and watery eyes, he looked much like a rat - not an observation Bob would voice aloud, of course. Instead, he asked pleasantly, "And who might you be?"

"I'm Wormtail." By god, even the man's voice was squeaky.

"Please sit down," Bob said, gesturing towards the sofa. "Wormtail is a nickname, I assume?"

"Yes." Wormtail shuffled to the sofa and sat, eyes occasionally flicking towards the door. The whole lot of them seemed to just want their therapy sessions to end - but then again, so did Bob.

"Would you mind me asking what your real name is?"

"No."

Bob repressed a quiet sigh. "What is your real name?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

"I see. Which would you like to be called by?"

"Anything's fine." At last, someone who might possibly be a little bit cooperative.

"And where did you pick up the nickname 'Wormtail'? Do you like it?"

Peter hesitated. After several seconds, he muttered, "My friends chose it 'cause I can turn into a rat." No. No, damnit! Bob had had enough of those animal freaks.

"Do you like being called Wormtail?"

Peter shrugged. "It's alright, I guess."

"And who are your friends?"

Again Peter paused before speaking. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, right?"

"Your session is completely confidential."

"You're not writing down anything I say?"

"Well, Peter, I have to, don't I?" Bob said gently. "Only with notes can I assess . . ."

"You'll destroy the papers later, won't you?"

"Why? Are you afraid someone will learn of what you wish to tell me?"

"No," Peter shook his head violently. "Just wondering."

That was great, just great_. _The first Death Eater willing to open up, and Bob just had to ruin it.

"Would you like to tell me about your friends, now?" Bob asked. Peter shook his head. "Well then, why don't you tell me about yourself?" Peter just shrugged.

"What do you like to do, for instance?" Bob asked.

"Not much," Peter said. "Avoid Bellatrix. Avoid Snape. Avoid Nagini."

"Yes, very understandable." Bob didn't smile. Really, he didn't. Or maybe he did, but if so, he was just trying to be encouraging . . . really. "And why do you avoid these people?"

"Well, Bellatrix tortures me, and she's allowed to because . . . I don't know why. The Dark Lord likes her best, I guess. It isn't _fair. _I'm an _Animagus, _and I was the one who helped the Dark Lord get reborn, not her."

"You helped Voldemort" Wormtail cringed at the name "'get reborn'?"

"That's right," Wormtail said, a note of pride entering his voice. "I was the one who came to him, who took care of him and nursed him back to health and all. Lucius and Greyback and Snape never did. It was all me. But now that the Dark Lord's back, Lucius still has all the money, and Greyback and his werewolves are useful, and Snape's just . . . Snape. He doesn't do much really, because he's a spy, but he doesn't really spy either. I dunno. But he's a good wizard, and he's friends with Nagini, so the Dark Lord likes him. And the Dark Lord doesn't like me. Nobody likes me."

"I doubt that. Surely someone -"

"No, they don't," Wormtail said, cutting him off. And good thing, too, because Bob realized a bit too late that he wasn't exactly being supportive. "Bellatrix hates me - I think she's jealous, actually - and Lucius hates me because Bellatrix does, plus he doesn't understand Animagi. And I don't know why, but Snape hates me too, and Greyback just doesn't like me much - Bellatrix helps with that. And Nagini wants to _eat_ me."

"I think you're exaggerating," Bob said. "Granted, Bellatrix might dislike you, but that doesn't mean everyone else does as well. And think, do you really want to be friends with her?"

Wormtail just looked at Bob dubiously for a moment. "You don't get it. You aren't a Death Eater."

"Explain, then."

"Bellatrix and Nagini are on top, right below the Dark Lord, because Nagini was his snake and Bellatrix will kill anyone who outranks her except Nagini. And the Dark Lord. She's crazy loyal, almost in love. More than almost. So if you're friends with either of them, you're protected. Lucius is Bellatrix' brother-in-law, and Greyback is friends with her even though she tortures him nonstop for being a werewolf. And he's also friends with Nagini, and so is Snape. But I'm not. You would think that I would be protected anyway, because I helped the Dark Lord, but no. No -"

"I don't think comparing yourself to others is really helping. You don't seem to like any of them much, anyway. Why don't you leave the Death Eaters?"

"Have you really not asked anyone else that question?" Wormtail said. "You don't just _leave._ Nagini's the only one who could just leave, and then only for a few days, because Bellatrix would hunt her down and kill her without the Dark Lord's knowledge. Anyone else gets killed on the spot for disloyalty, and hunted down if they disappear. Well, I guess Snape could probably just slink away and live in some other country; he's smart enough. Then Bellatrix would kill anyone who so much as mentioned potions for the next month. But no one else. And anyway, I don't have anywhere to go."

Wormtail understood the rest of the Death Eaters well; Bob would have to be an idiot to miss that. But he never seemed to focus on himself; surely someone with such insight into social interactions would be able to rise through the ranks of popularity? "What about these friends you mentioned?"

"They're dead, or they're against me," Peter said. "I . . . I didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to what?"

"Betray them. They hate me, now."

"How did you betray them?"

"The Dark Lord . . . he forced me to. He would have killed me otherwise. I tried to tell them, but they wouldn't listen, and then I had to join the Death Eaters or get killed, and it was too late to go back. I didn't want to. I didn't want to die."

"Voldemort threatened to kill you if you didn't betray your friends?" Bob asked. "Why didn't you report him to the police?"

Peter seemed to jerk out of his reverie in order to give Bob a well-practiced, coldly despairing look. "You don't understand any of this, do you?"

"Perhaps I don't." Bob couldn't actually see where he had stepped wrong. "Would you like to explain it to me?"

But Wormtail seemed to have given up. He mutely shook his head, still glaring. "I'm sorry you feel I don't understand," Bob tried again, "But I can, if you would tell me -"

"No," Wormtail said heavily. "You can't. No one can."

**Review! Group therapy coming next!**


	8. Introductions

**I'm soooooo sorry for the huge hiatus! I can't say it won't happen again, as I've finally been working on my actual novel, but hopefully my next update won't be so far down the road.**

**Thank so you much to my awesome reviewers! Enjoy!**

"C'mon, I'm sure they aren't that bad," Valerie said. Bob grunted in reply. "You'll see," he muttered. His loud complaining that Voldemort had signed up for group therapy - _group_ therapy, all seven of those maniacs at once! - had caused Valerie to decide that she should sit in on the session. For 'moral support,' whatever that was.

"And anyway, they'll have a positive effect on one another," Valerie pressed, twining a strand of purple hair around her finger.

"Actually, I think it will work the opposite way . . ." Bob tried to say.

"Hypocrite. Positive attitude, remember?"

Bob groaned, but was unable to reply, as the door opened abruptly. Severus and Nagini stepped in; Bob noticed the improvement in her fashion sense immediately. She looked as if she were about to attend a yoga class rather than a therapy session, but at least it was all black. Except for those socks, which were still green and grey.

Severus immediately turned for the chair farthest away, while Nagini did some sort of leap towards the sofa. Bob winced as she hit it head-on, whether for the sofa's well-being for Nagini's he was unsure, but she only turned and wriggled into a more comfortable position after hitting her head.

"Good morning, Nagini, Severus," Bob said, forcing a friendly smile onto his face. Nagini grinned, half sympathetic, half rather wicked, and waved, while Severus acted as if Bob hadn't spoken.

Voldemort entered before Bob could continue, Bellatrix on his heels. Voldemort looked around the room and headed for the armchair; Bellatrix glared at Nagini. "Move."

"My sofa," Nagini protested, extending her arms and legs to their fullest extent while rolling onto her belly. "I got here first."

"And I said move, so get off."

"You can't make me."

"You two," Bob said sharply. Why hadn't he just brought in seven foldable chairs? "Stop fighting this instant." They turned to face him in unison, Bellatrix angry, Nagini amused. "Either you work out an arrangement between you -"

"That's what we were doing," Bellatrix snapped. Bob ignored her.

"-_Peacefully_, or neither of you will have the sofa."

"You can't kick me off, I got here first," Nagini whined. Then, catching Bob's eye, she turned to Bellatrix. "But I never said you couldn't sit on me."

Bellatrix gave her a disgusted look and turned away. She went up to Voldemort, who was trying to look superior and dignified while stifling giggles, and asked, "My Lord?" Her voice was an odd mixture of sultry loyalty with just a dash of command, for Voldemort jumped and hastily moved over to give her space on the armchair. Bob grimaced at the two of them snuggling but didn't comment.

Lucius strode in then, a grand armchair with an M embroidered into the back floating in front of him. Bob blinked. Yes, it was floating. He chanced a glance toward Valerie; surely she should be screaming by now? No, she had hidden her surprise more quickly than he had.

"I'm afraid you'll have to use the seats supplied, Lucius," Bob said, as the chair floated to the ground with a soft thud. "Bringing in your own doesn't really seem fair, does it?"

"It's my seat," Lucius huffed, sitting in it. "I can do what I want with it."

"Yes, but this is my therapy room," Bob said.

"Actually -"

"Valerie, be quiet. I'll pay the rent when I have time," Bob muttered, hoping the Death Eaters weren't paying too close attention. They weren't. Lucius was fixing his hair in a mirror; Nagini appeared to be sleeping; Bellatrix was trying to sit on Voldemort's lap while he looked incredibly lost; Severus was reading. Wormtail scuttled into the room and found a chair in the corner, avoiding eye contact.

Fenrir arrived last, a good five minutes late and looking considerably worse for wear. That is to say, his clothes were more ripped and torn than before, with a sight more blood splotched across the front.

"Glad you could make it, Fenrir," Bob said, keeping that amiable smile on his face. "I see there are two seats left." He had decided not to make a big deal about Lucius' huge armchair and was beginning to regret it; the blond man looked so smug.

"Or you could sit on me!" Nagini offered, patting her back. No, patting that impossible-to-reach portion of her back, her arm twisting around weirdly in order to reach it. "Or," she added, "You could sit there." And with a nod toward the sea she proceeded to flip her legs over so they rested beside her head. She was still on her stomach. Bob shuddered and turned away; Fenrir muttered, "Nah, I'm fine," and turned towards the nearest chair.

"Now that we're all here," Bob said, carefully avoiding looking towards Nagini while trying to catch anyone else's eye. "Let's begin." No reaction. "Severus, please put away your book," Bob chided, "Bellatrix and Voldemort, if you cannot turn your attention towards the group, I will be forced to separate you." Voldemort looked affronted. Bellatrix began to snarl "You dare . . .?," but Voldemort hushed her before she had the chance to escalate the situation.

"I know you all are already acquainted, but perhaps brief introductions so as to break the ice would be pleasant," Bob tried. "Er, Nagini, I do need you to sit up." Nagini just looked at him, confused. "Untwist yourself and . . . oh, never mind. I want us to go in a circle; everyone state their name and something you don't think everyone else knows about you. I'll start. I'm Bob, and I used to play football in college. Now who would like to go next?" Bob would have bet quite a bit of money that at least half the Death Eaters had not heard a word he said. "Voldemort?"

"It's the Dark Lord, Muggle," Voldemort spat. All eyes turned towards him expectantly. "Well, I'm Voldemort, but Bellatrix will torture anyone who calls me that on my command. And I own a pair of green underwear." If anyone was surprised by this, they hid it well.

"Thank you, Voldemort," Bob said, ignoring Voldemort's snarl at the use of his name. And Bellatrix' - hers was quite a bit harder. "Does anyone else want to volunteer?" Apparently no one did. "Nagini?"

"Hi all, I'm Nagini," she said, flipping her legs back around. "And I can do this." So saying, she stood up on the couch, twisted into a bridge, and wrapped one leg around her arms. That was all Bob understood before he had to avert his eyes while Nagini tied herself into a knot.

"Who's next?" Bob looked around. "Fenrir?" He had been slightly cooperative, after all.

"You all know who I am." He didn't add the second part, but Bob didn't press it.

"Severus?"

"You just said my name; I was grading a Ravenclaw's essay."

"And what does that have to do with this?"

"No one knew it," Severus replied. Bob sighed.

"Nagini, can you please sit up now?" he asked, chancing a glance at her. All he could really discern was a jumble of arms and legs.

"I would," came her slightly muffled voice. "But I'm stuck." And, after a moment or so of silence, "Severus, help?"

"Letting go of your feet would be a good first step," Severus suggested. Bob considered intervening, but this show of working together would be a good example for the other Death Eaters.

"Can't find them," Nagini said, "It's okay; I'll do this later."

"Your feet are connected to your ankles . . . do we need to go through human anatomy again?"

"I know where feet are, I just don't know where mine _went_."

"One of them is pointing upwards."

Lucius and Bellatrix had by now returned to whatever they were doing; the rest of the Death Eaters were watching with expressions ever so slightly amused. Bob cleared his throat. He wasn't sure exactly what to do here - what was the usual etiquette when a contortionist has tied herself in a knot and is unable to get loose?

"Should we perhaps continue with the discussion?" Bob asked hesitantly. A few of the Death Eaters turned to him, confused, but none gave their assent. Bob continued anyway. "Would anyone like to tell me what you all would like to talk about?"

Evidently no one did. Severus moved to sit beside the knot of limbs that was Nagini on the sofa. Lucius pursed his lips while applying what must be the tenth coat of lipstick. Fenrir and Valerie began eyeing one another.

"Wormtail?" Bob suggested. "You've been awfully quiet. Why don't you say some topics, some issues you all may have been having?" Fenrir's face split into a malicious grin, mirrored by Bellatrix; even Severus showed the ghost of a smile. Did everyone really hate Wormtail so much?

"Um . . ." Wormtail squirmed under the eyes which slowly turned to him. "Sometimes we don't . . . cooperate?"

"Can anyone relate to that?" Bob asked, hoping to divert the attention from Wormtail. Really, they should be rooting for him, not awaiting his embarrassment.

A few people nodded, those who didn't avoid eye contact. Severus was slowly guiding Nagini out of her human knot.

"Bellatrix? Would you agree that not everyone cooperates?"

She shrugged. "Not when I don't torture them, they won't."

"You torture people so that they listen to you?"

"How else would I get them to listen?"

"Does everyone else agree that Bellatrix. . . ?"

There was an immediate chorus of "Yes."

"You don't need to sound so _whiny_ about it," Bellatrix said. "You could make it easier on yourselves, you know."

"You came into the parlour shooting the Cruciatus Curse at everything that moved," Severus said dryly. "What exactly were we meant to do to, as you say, 'make it easier'?"

"You could . . . not have moved," Bellatrix retorted.

"I didn't. You still tortured me."

"You deserved it," Bellatrix said immediately. Then, after a moment, "Why are you bringing up everything? The past is the past; you're just trying to start a fight."

"Listen to yourself, Bellatrix. Which of us sounds more passive-aggressive?"

Evidently Bellatrix realized she had a point, for she snarled, "Who're you to talk, filthy half-blood?"

"And what does my blood status have to do with anything?" Severus shot back.

"Whoa there, Bellatrix," Bob said. "Don't be so quick to insult." He waited for someone to echo 'yeah, Bellatrix,' but no one did. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish this lot from elementary school kids.

"Er . . . what does 'half-blood' mean?" Valerie asked.

"Half Muggle," Bellatrix said, as if that summed it up. When Valerie continued to look nonplussed, she sighed loudly and began to explain. "Lucius and I are pureblood."

"And me!" Wormtail added.

"Shut up, Wormtail, no one cares about you." Once again Bellatrix snarled the vicious insults without thought. "And the Dark Lord, of course." Nagini began laughing at this for some reason. Or perhaps she just found the sight of her own feet amusing.

"Which makes Snape the only part-Muggle."

"You forgot to mention Fenrir and Nagini," Bob pointed out.

"I'm a full-breed whatever name you gave to my species," Nagini called. "Descended straight from the Nag - I'M FREE!" And so she was; Severus had finally managed to disentangle her. Nagini did a sort of leap of celebration that ended with her face-down on the floor. "Ow . . ."

"Nagini," Bob said hesitantly. "Do you mind if I shine the spotlight on you for a moment? And Fenrir too, I suppose."

"I just fell off the sofa," Nagini pointed out. She tried to pull herself back up by grabbing first onto Severus' arm, then his hair, but he pulled the latter out of the way. "I'm pretty sure everyone's already watching me."

Fenrir already knew what Bob was getting at. "You realize how pointless this is?" he said. "Even if there were only humans - which there aren't, there was a fish on your desk - my being werewolf really doesn't cause any issues. And Nagini's not going to stop tying herself in knots just because she thinks she's a human."

"But I think it does cause problems, Fenrir," Bob said gently. "This sort of personality disorder is just the type of thing which -"

"Wait a second," Bellatrix interrupted. "You believe we're wizards fine, and I don't think anyone cast an Obliviate spell on you - though it would explain a lot - but you can't understand Fenrir's a werewolf?"

It _was_ a fair question, Bob had to admit. The answer, however - that getting to the bottom of this whole wizard fantasy would take too much time and effort on his part - wasn't the type of thing a therapist is supposed to admit to. Especially in front of Valerie.

"Aren't there Muggle werewolves?" Voldemort asked.

"Of course -"

"You know, like Jacob Black?"

Both Bellatrix and Fenrir stiffened in their seats. "Do - not - speak - the -name."

Lucius brightened and sat up. "Oooh, I love Twi -" He was unable to finish his sentence, however, as Bellatrix launched herself at him. Lucius screamed as she yanked on his hair.

"Enough!" Bob said. Shouted, really. "Bellatrix, sit down. People are allowed to have different interests."

"Not _those_ sort of interests," Fenrir said, as if Twilight were synonymous with . . . well . . . nothing much worse than the sort of thing he did already.

Bellatrix glared at Bob, then turned a disdainful look toward the snivelling Lucius. With a snarl she released him. Bob sighed in relief, then desperately cast around for a change of topic.

Lucius righted himself huffily and took out a comb, which he began yanking through his hair. "You . . . you need to apologize to me!"

**And yes, the next chapter will be apologies. Purely apologies. The Death Eaters have a lot to apologize for.**


End file.
